


Wax Paper Dogz

by rhink_is_my_kink



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Aftercare, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Punk, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bars and Pubs, Blood, Blow Jobs, Bottom Link Neal, F/M, Face-Fucking, Feelings Realization, Fighting, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gay Marriage, Groupies, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Homophobic Language, Love Confessions, M/M, Mentions of tattoos, Minor Violence, Outdoor Sex, Pain Kink, Piercings, Post-Coital Cuddling, RIP merle shirt, Subspace, Tattoos, Twinks, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Wounds, bad piercing aftercare, commitment ceremony, rhink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:20:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22942423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhink_is_my_kink/pseuds/rhink_is_my_kink
Summary: AU where Rhett and Link become punk stars instead of internetainers.
Relationships: Link Neal/Original Female Character(s), Rhett McLaughlin/Link Neal, Rhett McLaughlin/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 43





	1. The Early Days [Intro]

Starting a band was just something you did in a tiny rural town in North Carolina that scarcely had a need for stop lights, much less a Walmart. So forming a little punk band called Wax Paper Dogz was just supposed to keep them busy until they were old enough and grown enough to move out. To go to college, start families, have kids, own homes. Cookie-cutter, cul-de-sac homes where they invite the neighbors over for barbecue after church on Sundays, while they grill meat for their wives and kids and other people who are more or less strangers, while they wear painted-on smiles that don’t go all the way up to their eyes, and while away their time with inane work stories, and birthday parties, and projects, and deadlines, while they wait for the stress-induced heart attack that will put them in an early grave. 

So they wrote songs, and booked gigs at town fairs, and played at parties where college kids brought them solo cups full of PBR between songs. Rhett learned to play the guitar because two singers was one too many, and charismatic Link was much more of a showman than he was. The other band members changed often during those early years. Kids get bored quickly, or move away, or are grounded by their parents until they quit the band because they’d been busted crawling in their bedroom window well after 3am, smelling like cigarettes and beer three weekends in a row.

Wax Paper Dogz lost everyone eventually. Except for Rhett and Link.

Best friends ever since they were the age where they lose the memories of infancy, and form the first memories that will last their whole lives. In many ways, it was love at first sight. In the beginning it was the wholesome love that makes your best friend the sun to your moon. Eventually it grew to something that was fierce and powerful. It scared them, because you weren’t supposed to get goosebumps when your guy friend’s leg brushed against yours while you were pushed together riding in the backseat of a different friend’s car. You weren’t supposed to steal glances at each other’s bodies when you changed into swimsuits, or gym clothes. And you weren’t supposed to get hard in your worn Levi’s watching him lick the drips off a melting popsicle, or stretch his long limbs out with a groan while bathed in warm Carolina sunshine, surrounded by the smell of sweat, woods, and river.

They both managed to snag a girlfriend or two before the band formed. Afterwards though, girls were everywhere. Practically begging for attention. Slipping their phone numbers into pockets and book bags, showing up at gigs wearing tiny tops, and even tinier skirts, pushing their tits against them in the halls at school. Rhett and Link made a reasonable amount of effort to be lured by the attention. Skinny dipping in secluded ponds, slippery skin made otherworldly by the moonlight. Bathroom blowjobs, where the girls kneeled on bare tile floor and came to school the next day and showed off bruised knees to her jealous friends. Dipping their fingers into wet, desperate pussies, finger-fucking a shaky orgasm out of a body with a voice much too feathery light to be mistaken for the deeper voice of the person they’d much rather have their fingers inside of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta.  
> Updates Friday.


	2. The Early Days [Outro]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day the dam finally broke the two boys were heading to Lillington. Link’s red truck roared down the quiet back roads, windows down, blaring White Zombie, Sex Pistols, Nirvana, and Merle Haggard; the boys sing along at the top of their lungs, only pausing to argue over the nuances of certain lyrics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags are updated.

The day the dam finally broke the two boys were heading to Lillington. Link’s red truck roared down the quiet back roads, windows down, blaring White Zombie, Sex Pistols, Nirvana, and Merle Haggard; the boys sing along at the top of their lungs, only pausing to argue over the nuances of certain lyrics. 

They’d heard a body piercing place had opened in the shopping mall there, and the piercers weren’t very diligent about checking to make sure you were over eighteen. They’d pierced each others ears with safety pins, but they were after something a bit edgier. The dark-haired goth girl leaning on the glass case of body jewelry when they walked in didn’t even bother to check their ID’s at all. Just shoves paperwork at them while she sets out her equipment in the back room. 

Rhett goes first. They had hotly debated what they were going to have done that day. Rhett wanted them to do their septums. Link wanted them to do their tongues. Rhett gave in when Link’s temper flared, turning his eyes the pale sky blue that makes Rhett’s heart ache behind his ribs. He can never say no to Link, so they agreed to do their tongues today, and come back soon to have their noses done.

Rhett’s green eyes warily follow the goth girl while she explains what she’s going to do, and what she wanted Rhett to do. Link’s eyes follow Rhett’s tongue as it slowly licks along his bottom lip. The way that plush lip tucks between straight teeth that worry at it nervously. 

When the piercer tightens down the clamp that will hold his tongue still and flat, Rhett’s jade eyes go wild with alarm, searching frantically for Link. He doesn’t have to hunt very hard, Link is always there when Rhett needs him most. It was an immutable fact of life. He smiles at Rhett, and stands close enough for the big legs of his JNCO jeans to tickle Rhett’s bare calf, and for the smell of his Speed Stick deodorant to tickle Rhett’s nose. 

Rhett finds a deep well of serenity in those familiar blue eyes. The panicked flutter in his chest melts away when Link’s mouth tips up at the corners, stretching into a wide smile that pulls his goatee into a whole new shape. The distraction he finds in his best friend's face occupies him so thoroughly he doesn’t even bat an eye when the piercer pushes her needle through his tongue, or when she replaces the needle with a long stainless steel bar. He finally breaks the eye contact when the girl shakes a hand mirror in his general direction so he can check her work. 

“Wow,” he says incredulously. “It’s a lot heavier than I thought it would be.” The extra weight gives him a slight lisp. 

His eyes dart to Link’s again, where he finds a dark look, he isn’t able to decipher before the goth girl is shoving paperwork at him and shooing him out of the chair.

Link sits on the vacated seat, Rhett’s heat still trapped in the pale leather and it quickly sinks into his bones. He feels much less nervous than he thought he would, and that lack of butterflies makes him bold. 

The piercer finishes her spiel, and asks him if he has any other questions. Link just asks if she has time for something else once she’s done with his tongue. She dispassionately tells him she definitely isn’t busy.

“After my tongue, I wanted to, uhm, I wanted to get my nipples done too.” 

Rhett’s brain short circuits for long enough that when the ringing in his ears subsides and he’s able to focus again, Link already has a needle through his tongue. He blushes, embarrassed that he zoned out like that, but also because his dick is hard enough to pound nails right now. Which is something he isn’t really prepared to examine at this particular moment, so he swipes a folding chair from the corner and sits before anyone has a chance to see the tent in his shorts he’s desperately trying to hide. 

Then Link is whipping his Alice in Chains shirt off, and tossing it to Rhett for safekeeping. Rhett bunches it up in his hands and now all he can smell is Link.  _ This is _ so  _ not helping, _ he thinks.

The goth girl directs Link over onto a massage table covered in tissue paper. When the clamp pinches down on the sensitive bundle of nerves, Link groans, and it doesn’t sound like worry, fear, or pain when it hits Rhett’s ears. When the needle pops through his tit, Link’s back bows up off the table with his sharp intake of air. 

Link’s dick is obviously hard. It’s plain to see—even if Rhett hadn’t been studying his best friend’s body while he was prone. But he had, and he couldn’t help the way his eyes lingered over the thick bulge, or the way his mouth watered when Link’s abs flexed languidly and rolled his hips forward, rubbing his cock against the rough denim.

Link is riding an onslaught of sensation, but he heard the girl speak, and his brain tells him she’s probably talking to him, and he should probably be paying attention. 

“Your boyfriend’s kind of a pain slut, huh?” she says again. Link doesn’t understand the question, and when he looks up to tell her as much, he sees she’s talking to Rhett.

His brain zeroes in on the fact that she had said “boyfriend.” She thinks Rhett is his  _ boyfriend _ ... It sends tingles racing over his skin, and makes his cock squeeze out a little precome where it’s trapped against his leg.

Rhett’s answer gets lost in the pleasure/pain feedback loop in Link’s head, and all he hears is the low, familiar rumble of the only voice he knows better than his own.

Rhett stammers out something about how they’re  _ just friends _ , but he can tell she doesn’t believe him because she replies, “Sure, of course,” in a pointed tone, and gives him an exaggerated wink. 

The second nipple goes about the same as the first; Link’s lean form arches off the table with a haggard-sounding curse. And Rhett thinks the whole scene will live in his mental porn stash for him to jerk off to for the rest of his life, or at least as long as his hands and his dick will allow it.

The girl tells them she’ll give them a few minutes to get their shit together and she’d meet them out front with paperwork for Link. 

Rhett nods as she exits. He clears his throat. “You okay, buddy roll?” He grips Link’s bicep to help him sit up. 

Link grins, “Ahhmm. Yeah. I’m alright. That was... intense.” He sits up straight and throws his broad shoulders back to display his chest for Rhett. “What do you think, bo?” The soft way he asks goes straight to Rhett’s dick.

Rhett examines him, the dark patch of hair on his chest contrasts sharply with Link’s dusk-pink nipples, which are now sporting a matched set of rods tipped with petite silver balls. 

It makes Rhett hungry in a way he feels deep down in his soul. His voice is dark and weighted with the burden of these feelings that are getting harder and harder to stifle. “Looks good. Really good, brother.” His gaze is carnal and greedy. Link’s pupils are blown wide, and he wears a look that is deeply sated. Rhett feels like an asshole for eye-fucking his best friend when the poor guys defenses are completely down. So he hands Link his shirt, and says softly, “Do you need… anything?”

“I... umm… I don’t know.”

“Okay. Do you want me to wait in here for you?” 

Link shakes his head. “I just… gimmie a minute.”

Rhett slinks out, feeling like a coward. 

The piercer is waiting for Rhett with a stack of papers and a bottle of water.

“You’re gonna want to take him somewhere quiet. Get him to drink this.” She pushes the bottle toward him, it feels cool in his clammy hand. He doesn’t even question her. He just takes his wallet out and pays for both of them.

Link finally emerges, and Rhett hustles him out to the truck. He takes the boy’s keys from his hand, and replaces them with the water bottle.

Rhett drives them to the Cape Fear River. It’s a quiet spot they discovered as boys, at an age where having a secret location known only to them made them feel cool and conspiratorial. The only sound is the wildlife in the woods around them, and the soft susurration of the river beside them.

“How are you?” Rhett asks cautiously.

Link rubs his jaw absently. “It feels okay. A little sore.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Huh?”

“Link, she hurt you and you… you liked it. She also said…” 

“She called me your boyfriend,” Link recalls.

Rhett gives a tight-lipped nod. “Yeah. How did it make you feel?”

Softly, Link says, “It made me happy.”

“Yeah? Me too.” 

Rhett’s looking out at the river, so he’s startled when his lap is suddenly full of Link. His best friend’s straddling his thighs, heavy and warm. His hands rest gently on Rhett’s shoulders, and the warmth he felt earlier is back, twisting in his gut. 

“Kiss me,” he says. “Please, Rhett.”

There’s not even a token effort to stop what’s happening. Link’s kiss is much more aggressive than Rhett’s, and if it weren’t for the cumbersome jewelry in their newly pierced tongues, they’d be tangling them together. Link settles one hand on Rhett’s jaw to control the kiss, thumb teasing over his sparse beard. His other hand wanders restlessly over Rhett’s chest, fingers tracing over collarbones, dipping into the spaces between ribs, and rubbing over the firm buds of his nipples.

Link pushes even closer to Rhett, bringing their hard dicks together for the first time. Link breaks the kiss with a pained sound. 

“Fuck, bo. You’re hard.”

It wasn’t an accusation, but Rhett comes back like it was, “Well, you are too!”

“Did I do that to you?”

Rhett casts his eyes downward, and nods. Link tuts and pushes Rhett’s chin up until his eyes are on Link’s again.

“I said,  _ did I do that to you _ ?”

It’s hard to speak with those intense blue eyes locking him in place. “Yeah,” he finally manages to whisper. 

“Shit.” The word punches its way out of Link; more than he should be able to manage, given how his lungs—the whole damn cab of this truck, really—seems to be suddenly devoid of air.

Then Link is devouring Rhett’s mouth, an aggressive kiss, accompanied by the rocking of his hips to grind them together. Rhett slings his arms around Link and squeezes him tighter, impossibly close. 

The pressure against Link’s chest has him breaking the kiss to gasp a curse. Rhett was about to apologize, but he realized Link didn’t sound hurt. In fact, he had moaned, and his hips had bucked against him. Like he enjoyed it.

Rhett settles his hands at the top of Link’s pecs, just under the collar bone. He trails his hands slowly downward with feather-light pressure. If Link had wanted him to stop, Rhett had given him plenty of time before those big hands were hovering over Link’s nipples. Despite how sore Rhett figured they had to be, Link pushes his chest into Rhett’s hands with a groan. 

“She called you a ‘pain slut,’ Link.”

“Who? Huh?” Link is perplexed by the statement.

Rhett gives him the context, “The girl at the shop. The piercer. She called you… that’s what she called you.” He didn’t want to keep saying it. 

Now it’s Link’s turn to drop eye contact in favor of looking down.

“Did you… like it? Did it feel good?”

“Uh, yeah. I… it did. I did. I liked it.” Now he looks back at Rhett, dark eyebrows knitted together with anxiety. “Is that wrong? Am I bad for liking it?”

“Gosh, no. I liked that you liked it. I liked  _ watching _ you like it, so if you’re bad, then so am I.”

Link pulls his t-shirt off, exposing his new additions to the bright Carolina sun. 

“Look,” he tells Rhett, gesturing to the goosebumps that pebble the pale skin, and force his nipples into hard peaks around the bars. 

‘Shit, Neal. Looks good. Fucking hot, actually.” He drags the calloused pads of his fingertips over the soft skin of Link’s chest. He doesn’t touch the nipples, but based on the sounds Link makes, he doesn’t have to. 

“Rhett, please.” He tugs at Rhett’s shirt, until Rhett backs away enough so that he can pull it off. 

Rhett’s hands go the front of Link’s jeans. His green eyes silently ask permission. Link nods, and groans when Rhett pops the button and rakes the zipper down. It relieves some of the pressure on his cock, but it would be even better if… He rolls to the side, back into the passenger seat to wrestle his wide-leg jeans off. 

Rhett takes the opportunity to quickly shed the rest of his clothes. Link opens the passenger door so he has room to unlace his high tops, cursing the fact that he can’t just pull them off. Rhett’s out of the car and around to the passenger side of the truck by the time Link kicks his second shoe off with a curse. 

Rhett’s there, sun lighting up his freckled skin, and bringing out the auburn in his hair. He leans into Link, kissing his lips, then skimming down to his neck to nip at the skin there, until the dark-haired boy is rolling his hips again, the thin layer of Link’s boxers is all that’s separating them, so Rhett tugs the elastic waist until Link lifts up enough to peel them off.

“Bo,” Link sighs against Rhett’s ear. “Want you inside of me. Please say it’s what you want too.”

“Hush. Of course it is, Link. I wanna feel you in me too. Another day. Soon.” 

He nods, then says sheepishly, “Please don’t think I’m silly for this, but…” he pulls up on the handle that releases the glove box door. A tube of lube is stashed underneath a mess of napkins and maps. 

“Holy shit, Neal. How were you never a Boy Scout?”

“Same reason you weren’t, brother.” 

Neither boy had any experience with this — they’d never fucked any of the girls that were always hanging on them. They had never particularly wanted to, nor had that ever even been expected of them. The girls they’d messed around with mainly wanted to have a story to tell their friends, to pretend , even for a moment, that they were part of the band experience.

They had been to enough college parties in the surrounding cities that they picked up enough to have a little bit of a roadmap for this. They were both very shrewd, and they’d been dancing around the edge of this thing between them for a while.

So Rhett smears a generous amount of the clear jelly on his fingers. It’s unnaturally warm from being in the glove compartment during the sweltering Carolina summer. 

Link is lying back, propped on his elbows, so he has a clear view of what’s happening, like the control freak Rhett knows and loves. His legs are spread, feet resting on opposite sides of the door frame 

Link’s breath hitches when Rhett’s wet fingers drag over his hole. When he breaches the ring of muscle with a single finger, Link immediately knows he can handle another. 

“More, bo. Do another.”

“We should go slow. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Link just raises an eyebrow at him until Rhett capitulates and slips a second finger in next to the first. 

Link rattles out a long, low groan, and slips a hand around his cock, jacking it lazily while he watches Rhett’s fingers fucking him slowly. It doesn’t take long for him to loosen up for another finger, which Rhett adds without needing to be told this time. 

“I’m ready, Rhett. Want you to fuck me. Come on.” He feels so empty when Rhett’s fingers pull out.

Link helps himself to a squirt of the viscous lube before Rhett has a chance. “Here, let me,” Link asks and wraps his long fingers around Rhett’s thick cock without waiting for an answer. His hand milks over the length of it several times, before he pulls Rhett forward with a leg hooked around his hip. He slides the head of Rhett’s dick over his crack until the blunt head pops past his rim. 

“Okay. Go ahead,” Link directs. 

Rhett closes his eyes because it’s easier if he doesn’t look. 

Link is having none of it. “Open your eyes, bo.”

With a shuddering breath, he does. He holds those familiar, haunting eyes, because they look far more confident than he feels right now.

Deciding Rhett’s moving too slow for his tastes, Link draws Rhett toward him, incrementally closer, until Rhett bottoms out, and both boys are gasping and cursing. Rhett is thick, and it takes a moment for Link to adjust, until he finally removes his leg from Rhett’s hip.

“You can move now. Oh  _ fuck _ , god, please. Fuck me, bo.”

“Shit. You feel so good,” Rhett groans when he finally does as instructed. He grips Link’s narrow hips and uses them to bring their bodies together.

Link sits up and pulls Rhett’s mouth to his for a kiss. They break apart because the slap of Rhett’s hips against his ass make their teeth click together. Instead, they let their hands roam over the miles of skin they’d never been able to touch in this way. Brotherly shoulder slaps, hand shakes, and backyard wrestling are all pale impersonations of contact. They’re totally at each other’s mercy like this. Link is enveloped by Rhett’s tall, lanky body, cocooned in the woodsy tanginess of his best friend’s scent. And Rhett is cradled in the heat of Link’s body, he can feel the soft, secret quiver of his soulmate’s heart beat surrounding him.

Link is growling commands at Rhett, eagerly egging him on—

“Harder.” 

“Faster.” 

“I’m not gonna break, bo.” 

“Up a little. There.” 

Until Rhett’s cock finds the perfect angle, the perfect spot inside of him, and Link sees stars. “Oh,  _ fuck _ yeah. That’s it. Right  _ there.  _ Shit. Don’t stop.”

Link’s drawling a string of expletives in a syrupy southern accent, and dragging blunt nails over Rhett’s back, leaving angry red tracks that turn to fire when crisscrossed by the sweat that trails over his tanned skin.

Rhett can feel his ograsm coiling down his spine, so he snakes a hand between their bodies, and wraps a big hand around Link’s dick. A moment later Link’s long fingers curl around Rhett’s hand, taking control, jacking his cock faster until he comes with a deep groan, painting both boys with pearls of salty slick. 

Link’s hot release is smeared into chest hair and treasure trails by the driving force of Rhett’s body. He hammers into Link, chasing his release, until he buries himself deep inside that heat and comes with a wail. 

In the heat of a perfect, carefree summer afternoon, they lose themselves for awhile. Curled together in the bench seat of Link’s truck, they kiss with a passion they’d never felt for any kiss prior to the one happening right at that moment. They talk about their music, and what the future holds. And maybe there are tears, and worry over what will become of them if anyone in their conservative little town finds out about them. About this. In the end, they decide they don’t care. What they feel for each other is worth protecting—no matter the cost.

Eventually they untangle their sticky, sweaty limbs, and hold hands as they wade into the river. The cool waters of the Cape always welcome them with soft murmurs. They dive and cavort in the refreshing water. Washing each other from head to toe, and back again.

They crawl back onto the grassy shore and fall asleep in each others arms; waking once the pink and purple tendrils of dusk spread out across the sky. They dress in companionable silence, and hold hands across the seat until they turn onto Rhett’s street. 

The next day they meet during their lunch period, and they each have notebooks full of song lyrics they share with each other. Scrawled over empty pages in the dark of night, both boys unable to sleep after a day filled with such earth-shaking revelations. After school they meet with their bandmates of the moment—a bass player, and drummer—at Rhett’s house. They set up fort in his parent’s garage until well past dark, and finally emerge with four full-fledged songs written, and a half dozen others already in progress. 

The air is electric with possibility when the four boys separate and return to their homes.

* * *

The following weekend they visit their special spot again. They arm themselves with a sharp rock, and shed blood together to seal a promise they make to each other. It’s a directionless promise, but it’s as immutable as the laws of physics, the march of time, or the vastness of space. 

Once the business of their blood oath is done, Rhett finally gets to feel Link inside of him.

* * *

When they return to the piercing shop three weeks later, their hair is bleached a startling white, and they have a brand new copy of their demo cassette to give to the goth girl behind the counter. When they walk in holding hands, she doesn’t seem the least bit surprised. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take care of your piercings, y'all.


	3. Present Day [Intro]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twenty-five years have gone by since those fresh-faced boys shook hands and shared blood in the woods. Their faces splattered with warm Carolina sunshine. They talked of big, abstract things. Amorphous wishes, hopes and dreams. Thrilling futures spooled out endlessly before them. They sat beneath the sprawling branches of an oak tree and promised each other extraordinary lives, they made a pact to love each other forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No smut today. Sorry. This is just tooth-rottingly sweet fluff.  
> Wait until next Friday though. 😘

Twenty-five years have gone by since those fresh-faced boys shook hands and shared blood in the woods. Their faces splattered with warm Carolina sunshine. They talked of big, abstract things. Amorphous wishes, hopes and dreams. Thrilling futures spooled out endlessly before them. They sat beneath the sprawling branches of an oak tree and promised each other extraordinary lives, they made a pact to love each other forever.

They had never gotten officially married, mainly because it wasn’t legal for two men to marry until recently. Now that it was mostly legal, it didn’t really matter to them anymore. They’d exchanged rings years ago; thin gold bands slipped over tattooed knuckles, in a ceremony between the two of them on a quiet back road in California. It was oddly reminiscent of the blood oath they’d made to each other many long years ago. The ceremony wasn’t legally binding, but the law couldn’t possibly bond them any closer than the past thirty-five years had.

Their musical careers had taken them farther than they’d ever dreamed possible. They wrote the songs which would make up the first full-length Wax Paper Dogz album during their junior year of high school. They recorded it over the summer in an improvised studio they set up in Rhett’s garage. His father had been furious at them monopolizing his space, but he ultimately let it go, because there were worse things two high school boys could do with their time. 

Their bandmates shifted constantly during those formative years. Once their first album went big the changes became less frequent. Most of the guys who came and went once they hit it big did so because their families couldn’t cope well with the long months spent on tour, or the saturnalia of debauchery that followed each show.

There was no such concern for Rhett and Link. Where one went, the other followed, and each was all the other needed. There weren’t enough parties, booze, or drugs in the world that could change that.

After all this time, they didn’t have to play little clubs anymore, but they did anyway, because these two are suckers for nostalgia. There is something pure about schlepping their gear from their RV, through a grimy back alley, in through the side door of some no-name club. A place that only sells burgers and fries so patrons can soak up some of the alcohol in their guts, and sober up fast enough to avoid a DUI on the way home. The kind of place where you get paid in free beer, and sometimes have to play behind chicken wire and rebar because the bar’s patrons are known to get a little too excited on Friday nights, and start throwing punches.

It’s magical watching Link’s lips curl around lyrics they’d written together. He shines like a beacon in a dark world whenever they’re on stage. Belting out songs—especially the really old stuff, deep cuts from before anyone had ever heard of the Wax Paper Dogz. Sometimes Link turns toward Rhett, in the middle of a song, and quirks a crooked smile in his direction. It’s times like that when Rhett is profoundly grateful for the muscle memory that keeps his fingers strumming and stroking over the strings of his guitar. Because Link’s pale, stubble-rough face steals the air from his lungs, and crowds every thought from his head.

Every inch the anarchistic punk, Rhett’s deft fingers slip over his guitar strings, tattooed digits coaxing intricate sounds out of it that make the part of Link that will always be a lovesick teenager weep with the depth of affection he feels for the taller man. Hands so familiar to Link he could map out every single mole and freckle that dots their surface, even the ones hidden under bold tattoos. Some nights, after he’s thoroughly sated from fucking, or being fucked, Rhett gives him a sharpie, and lets Link draw mysterious constellations all over his body. Each star is a story, and each grouping is a portrait of their adoration.

Their bodies bear their love story in pictures—tattoos created at the hand of an artist, and forever etched in flesh with needles. Many of the tattoos are unique to each man: a small jar of peanut butter behind Link’s right ear, a tiny can of beans on the meaty intersection between Rhett’s thumb and index finger, “Merle Forever” hugs the gentle curve of Link’s 4th rib, and Lionel Richie’s face hides on the pale expanse of Rhett’s right thigh. But many other pieces belong to both of them. The words ‘Blood Oath’ boldly etched over clavicles; mythical creatures such as unicorns, cockatrices, and exotic little antlered mice, cavorting up and down their limbs; silly, made-up words, like confidance, and inventioneerer—words that have meaning only for them, a strange language no one else in the world is fluent in. Their names are written on each other dozens of times, in dozens of places, a visual manifestation of the one word their soul knows better than their own.

The two men exist in vivid technicolor. From their clothing, to their tattoos, to the ever-shifting colors of their hair, they live their lives in a world painted in vibrant lights and darks they never could have dreamed of as boys. But the light that shines the brightest is the radiant love they have for each other, intense and legendary—even after all these years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta.  
> Last chapter posts next Friday.


	4. Present Day [Outro]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A random night in the life of the Wax Paper Dogz: An impromptu gig at a small club. New tattoos. A run-in with a groupie. And two boys who are still crazy in love. Even after all these years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated tags. PLEASE read them.

The dingy light of the club casts a sickly yellow pallor over the three men spread out in a mangy booth next to the small, raised platform that passed for a stage. It’s almost backstage, but not quite. It’s where local groupies typically sit to watch the shows. They’d had to shoo some dewy-eyes twinks off the vinyl-covered benches so a big dude who said his name was Skeeter could set up his tattoo machine. 

Rhett could still see the four boys they’d evicted in his periphery. Their fake ID’s had gotten them drunk enough to try hooking up with the band members—who had all left already, save for Rhett and Link—and the little shits with their salon-bleached hair, were huddled next to the low stage watching Link hungrily, while their dicks leaked into their expertly distressed designer jeans. 

Rhett unfolds every inch of his imposing frame; six-foot-nine in his big black shitkickers, seven foot if you add the shoulder length waves that are pushed back from his face and circle the crown of his head like a hostile halo. His lip curls in a sneer as he stalks toward them. The t-shirt with its sleeves and midriff cut off flaunt the way his body bristles with lean muscle, and colorful tattoos ripple across his arms as he clenches his fists. 

“The fuck you looking at, you little shit?” He growls at the boy who stands in front of the rest. “‘Cause I know you ain’t looking over here.” He waves his big hands and gestures at the entire general area behind him that Link is currently occupying, laid out on the tabletop, arms casually folded behind his head, tight jeans pulled down  _ almost _ far enough to give the groupies a good look at his husband’s dick. 

The lead boy stammers softly, “N-n-nothin’. We just, uhhm, we thought the band might want some uhh… company tonight?” 

“You thought? You fuckin’ thought, did you?” He grabs a handful of the boy’s designer-branded Nirvana t-shirt, and stoops down to get right in his face. “Boy,  _ this _ cock would wreck you, and send you home cryin to your mama.” He cups a hand over the bulge in his jeans and squeezes before pointing towards Link. “And  _ that  _ cock would send you straight on to the other side, so you could cry to your dead grandma about the big man who fucked you so good you saw Jesus.” 

He’s pulled the boy all the way up to his tiptoes now, and his doe eyes shimmer in the jaundiced lighting. A tear breaks free and rolls a silver trail down his cheek. Rhett releases the boy with an annoyed grunt and turns away without another thought for the wafish wanna-be punks. 

Now Link is interested; sitting up on his elbows, long legs dangling over the edge of the table. He’s looking at Rhett like he wants to devour him right here. With his jeans flapped open as they are, Link’s half-hard cock is obvious, even from over here. Skeeter studiously ignores the thick bulge—surprisingly professional for a tattoo artist who works out of the back of a bar. 

Rhett’s eyes sweep over Link’s prone form. Most of his torso is exposed, pants open, cropped shirt tucked up under his armpits. The colorful tattoos that decorate his skin make him look pale and dangerous. 

“Fuck, Rhett. Did you have to run them off so early? We coulda fucked with them a little before you scared them away.” Link’s bottom lip pokes out in an exaggerated pout. 

“Yes, Neal,” Rhett says gruffly, but with a great deal of affection. “I ran them off because I don’t have time to watch some nameless dicks give each other head for our amusement all night.” 

He swipes his thumb over one side of Link’s new artwork, already covered with plastic wrap. He has brand new, vivid black ink wrapped around his jutting, bony hip bones. This side said “Lurv Handles.” The other, “Property of Rhett.” Both were written in Rhett’s own hand, and made permanent by Skeeter. 

_ What a stupid fucking name, _ thought Rhett, rubbing over his own sore hip bones, which bore similar tattoos covered in saran wrap and masking tape. Only “Lurv Handles,” and “Property of Link” were written in his lover’s angular, precise penmanship. The spelling had been Link’s idea too. He giggled about it for almost fifteen minutes when Rhett finally nodded his approval of the artwork. 

“I plan on making use of these handles tonight.” Rhett says, thumping an index finger over the fresh ink.

“I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

His head falls back with a low groan as the humming needles rake over the thin skin that covers his hip. Goosebumps race up his chest, and his nipples tighten around the metallic rods that spear the tight buds of flesh. 

Once Link’s newly decorated hips are covered in plastic wrap and denim, Rhett drags him out of the club, into the alley where their RV is parked. He pushes Link against the damp bricks. He opens his mouth to tell Link how sexy he looks with his new tattoos nestled in among the old ones, but Link grabs the front of his t-shirt in both fists, and drags him in for a deep kiss. 

Rhett gently shakes his shirt out of those persistent fingers, grabbing both of Link’s wrists in one hand, and pinning them to the bricks above Link’s head. He crowds closer, chasing the air from between their bodies. He has to stoop a little so he doesn’t break the kiss, as he works the front of their jeans open with the other hand. 

They both hum appreciatively when Rhett’s big hand wraps around their dicks. He jacks them slow at first, dragging his fingers through the percome that pearls at the tips. The rough slip-slide of his hand drags noises out of both of them. Link’s voice is muffled against Rhett’s neck while Rhett’s huffed breaths turn to steam in the cool night air.

They’re so wrapped up in each other that they don’t hear the rough crunch of gravel under a bootheel until it’s two feet away from them. Rhett’s focus is faded and fuzzy, but Link smacking his shoulders snaps him back to alertness.

Rhett looks over his shoulder to see one of the brats from inside the club. It isn’t the one he’d pegged as the leader, the one who had cried when he confronted them. It was one of the other pale, bleached, rich little pricks who stood there and let their friend be manhandled without lifting a finger to help. 

“This is some shit,” Rhett chuckles. “You too stupid to understand ‘fuck off’ means  _ fuck off _ ?”

Link’s fingers dig painfully into his shoulders; silently begging him not to start shit in this alleyway.

The kid is almost a foot shorter than Rhett, and probably 50 pounds lighter, but he’s still cocky enough to meet Rhett’s eyes. “No. I heard what you said, but I still thought this pretty little cum dump was worth another shot,” he sneers at Link while speaking to Rhett. 

Link flinches at the insult. Then he feels Rhett’s whole body go hard and angry. His muscles thrum with the effort it takes to not pounce on the dude and rip him apart. Even so, he gently tucks Link’s dick back into his pants, and does the same for himself, before turning to the guy.

“The fuck did you just say?”

“I  _ said _ , this sweet little  _ faggot _ looks like he’s dying for another load, and it looked like you could use some help,  _ old man _ .”

Link can smell whiskey, and knows this kid is drunk off his ass, and just here to start shit because Rhett made his friend cry. He also knows this is the kind of shit that makes Rhett see red. The kid could have insulted Rhett up one side and down the other, and Rhett would have brushed it off with a laugh and bought the guy a beer. But the kid had insulted Link, and that wasn’t something Rhett had ever been able to ignore. 

So Link crowds into the electric air between the two men, turning his back to the stranger, so Rhett can see him, can focus on his face. He keeps as many points of contact as possible letting the warmth of his body seep into Rhett’s, while letting the worry he feels inside bleed out onto his expression. He touches Rhett’s bare arms, making a skin-to-skin connection between them, throwing out a life raft to shift Rhett’s focus. 

Rhett’s green eyes find his face, worry lines appearing to match Link’s own. 

“C’mon, bo,” Link says quietly. “Let’s go. It’s okay. He doesn’t matter.”

He can read the affirmative in Rhett’s eyes, a small nod barely displacing his auburn curls as the taller man gently moves him aside. The stranger squares up, expecting a fight from Rhett. 

He almost gets it—Rhett’s big fist wiffs by his ear, only missing his face by a hair’s breadth to smash into the brickwork behind him.

“Fuck.  _ Off _ ,” he growls. “ _ Now _ .”

Link is finally able to breathe again when the dude ultimately sees good sense and retreats into the darkness.

“Are you okay?” Rhett asks, hands fluttering over Link’s body as if the guy had actually touched him.

“Yeah man. I’m fine. He didn't even touch me.”

“But he said…”

“Hush. I ain’t worried about what he said. I don’t give a fuck what he thinks about me.”

Rhett mumbles assent, and lets Link take his left hand, the one that he’d smashed against the wall, rather than hit the boy. He passively allows Link to examine his mangled knuckles. They were smeared with crimson, and probably broken. It hurt like hell, but it gave him something to focus on besides the big, bright neon sign in his brain that insisted that he protect Link at all costs.

“If you’re gonna ruin a perfectly nice tattoo, could you at least do one that isn’t my name?” Link asks crossly. The knuckles of Rhett’s right hand read “LOVE,” his bleeding left hand “LINK.”

“Is it ruined?”

“I don’t think so, but I need to clean it off first. Your ring is definitely wrecked though.”

Now Rhett  _ really _ feels like shit. 

Rhett wiggles his fingers and opens his hand. Link’s face goes pale as a small river of blood pours out of the split skin; he’s a lot better at handling blood than he used to be, but a man still has limits. Rhett sees with chagrin that his ring is indeed ruined. The bricks cut long grooves through the soft gold, and it was badly flattened on one side, and would need to be cut off before his finger swelled around it.

“Let’s go back to the RV so I can take you to the hospital.” He pulls Rhett along behind him.

“Uh-uh. I don’t want to go to the hospital now.” 

“Babe, you need x-rays. Probably a cast too. It’s okay though, I’ll stay with you.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a baby. I’m a grown man.” 

Link laughs, and brings both of his fists together so Rhett can read what Link had etched across his knuckles. BIG MAN, red hearts faded to soft pink on each pinkie bracketing the words. “Yes. I know, brother. You’re a  _ big man _ . But you still need a doctor.”

Rhett is  _ thisclose _ to whining, “I know. But I don’t wanna go now.” He pulls Link closer and cups his hands over Link’s round ass. “I had other plans. Please. I promise I’ll go in the morning.”

It doesn’t take much more than Rhett’s tongue in his mouth to convince Link.

* * *

Two hours later, after following their GPS to three different Walmarts, they finally have first aid supplies, and bolt cutters. It’s a good thing too, because, despite the bag of frozen green beans draped over his knuckles, Rhett’s hand is starting to swell around the mangled gold band. Link uses the wire cutters to cut the ring into two halves for removal. 

After his ravaged knuckles are clean and wrapped in copious amounts of gauze, Link plops down in Rhett’s lap. 

“I’m sorry I messed up my ring.” 

“It’s no big deal.”

“Yeah it is. It’s, like, our wedding ring.”   
  
“I know, but it’s just a symbol. It doesn’t change your love, or mine. It’s just an inanimate object. We can replace it. Or we can get matching bands tattooed on. Or we can buy gaudy diamonds so big we can’t lift our arms anymore. Stop worrying about it. I’m not. As long as I still have you, it’s good.” 

He lets it go, even though they both know he isn’t even remotely done mentally berating himself. Instead of arguing, he nudges Link off his lap.

Link stands with a  _ hey, what gives  _ on his lips. It dies when Rhett scooches out of his seat and falls to his knees at Link’s feet.

He smirks down at Rhett, and buries a hand in Rhett’s wild, wavy hair, and tips Rhett’s face up to his. “You look good on your knees, bo.”

Rhett’s green eyes are full of fire when he sweeps them up to meet Link’s, and his voice is low and rough when he says, “Yeah? Well get your cock out for me then.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice, swiftly opening the front of his low-slung jeans, groaning when his dick is freed from its tight denim confines. He wraps his hand around himself and jacks his cock a few times, tugging at the thick ring that hangs from his slit, before he orders, “Open.”

Rhett’s mouth springs open in perfect obedience. He swipes a tongue over his bottom lip, and lets it rest there. Patiently waiting.

Link strokes himself until a pearl of precome curls out of his slit around the heavy ring. He milks the droplet onto Rhett’s tongue and chases it with the head of his cock. He pulls Rhett’s hair into a messy ponytail that he wraps around his fist. He uses that handful of hair to move Rhett’s mouth over his cock, or to hold his head still so he can fuck into the tight warmth of his throat.

Rhett’s barely-there gag reflex is a blessing that allows him to deep throat Link’s generous length with ease, he’s even unbothered by the hefty PA piercing Link’s been sporting for years. Link thanks his lucky stars for that because he loves to fuck Rhett’s face until his beard is covered in strings of thick saliva and come. 

That’s the same desperation both men are feeling now. Despite Link’s distaste for violence, it gets his dick wet when Rhett is willing to fight for him. And Link is a strong and steady anchor in the rough sea of Rhett’s emotions. Rhett would worship the ground Link walks on, but he’d much rather worship his body. 

Link fucks Rhett’s throat with punishing intensity. He doesn’t stop until the front of his jeans are soaked in Rhett’s drool; droplets of it patter onto the tops of his faded Converse when he pulls his dick out of Rhett’s mouth.

Rhett’s catching his breath, face pressed against Link’s hip, and his voice is raw when he asks, “Will you fuck me, bo?”

“But… you said you were gonna use my  _ lurv handles _ tonight,” Link flops to the floor in front of Rhett and pouts dramatically. 

“I know. And I will. I just... I need you to know you aren’t... what that piece of shit called you. You aren’t a cum dump.”

Link’s gut reaction is to tell Rhett that of  _ course _ he knows that, and some drunk dickhole isn’t going to get into his head like that. But he can read the truth in those soft jade eyes—it had gotten into Rhett’s head. So he nods, threading his fingers into Rhett’s beard and gently tugging him closer. 

“Of course. Anything you want,” he says before kissing Rhett deep. Because they’d do anything for each other; not just the big stuff, but the small stuff too, like giving each other comfort. They spent more time together over this lifetime than they had with anyone else, even their parents. They know each other even better than they know themselves. They’d been studying each other their whole lives. So of course Link pulls Rhett into his calm little bubble, and lets Rhett take what he needs. 

Once he kisses Rhett breathless, Link asks, “Where do you want it?” 

Rhett just quirks an eyebrow at him.

It takes Link a beat to register his own double entendre. Then he laughs at his own joke until his stomach hurts. “You know that’s not what I meant, doofus.”

“Then why don’t you shut up and fuck me already?”

“Yes sir,” Link drawls slow and thick as molasses. He pushes Rhett onto his back, and straddles his hips, pinning Rhett’s hands over his head. “Leave ‘em. There. Don’t touch.”

Rhett licks his lips, “Yes sir,” he says softly. He looks like heaven here, on the floor of their RV, with his hands above his head, and his long golden hair fanned out around him. With his cropped t-shirt riding up high on his ribs, and his soft, faded jeans riding low on his lanky hips, Link thinks he looks good enough to eat. 

He wastes no time, shucking Rhett’s clothes, giving him access to all of that freckle-dusted skin. He nips and sucks his way down Rhett’s long torso, leaving a trail of dark, raspberry-colored hickeys, and imprints of his crooked teeth all the way from Rhett’s neck, down to his groin. He gently unwraps the fresh tattoos that adorn the bony ridges of Rhett’s hip bones, tenderly kissing over the reddened skin. Their bright, brand-new ink stands out among the old artwork that surrounds them, the older images soft, and faded with age. 

His lips slip over Rhett’s cock, warm, and wet, and soft as silk. He swirls his mouth around the head, and dips the tip of his tongue into the slit. Rhett’s hips raise off the floor with a moan, and a salty drip of precome squeezes out onto Link’s tongue. 

He pulls off of Rhett with an obscene smacking sound, and hums, “Mmhm. You taste so good.” 

His blue eyes are bright behind his glasses when Rhett lifts his head to look into them. “Yeah?” comes Rhett’s voice, low and husky. “Well your mouth looks awful nice with my dick in it.”

“I bet it does,” Link drawls, a low rumble that comes from deep in his chest. 

This time when he closes his mouth over Rhett’s cock, he slides it all the way to the back of his throat, until his lips are stretched thin around the base, and his nose is buried in auburn curls. He holds steady there, even though Rhett is losing his mind, bucking, swearing, and trying to find something to hold onto. 

Link swallows around his length, and finally Rhett gives up, and grabs Link’s cotton candy blue hair and drags Link off of him. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuckfuck _ fuuck _ ,” Rhett growls. “Careful, Neal, or you’re gonna make me fuck that pretty face of yours.”

A thick string of saliva arcs from Link’s bottom lip, to the tip of Rhett’s cock. Link bites his lip, making the thread waver, he stares Rhett down, and says, “Do it.” His sharp eyes say he means it. Say,  _ I fucking dare you _ . Say,  _ fuck me up _ .

So that’s what Rhett does. Dragging Link back down on his cock, burying himself in that warm, willing throat again. Two big handfuls of pale blue hair clutched in his sweaty palms, he uses Link’s mouth like it’s nothing more than a tight, wet hole, his own personal pocket pussy, existing for no other reason than to get him off. The dull pain in his bandaged hand is all but forgotten, his neurons are expending their effort elsewhere.

Link’s scalp tingles when Rhett’s fists pull some of his hair out by the roots. It’s rough, and dirty. Rhett’s thick cock pummels Link’s throat, barely allowing him to breathe. His eyes water and his nose runs, and at some point, his glasses fall off. But it’s so fucking  _ good _ .

Link braces his hands on the floor beside Rhett’s hips, his t-shirt hangs from his broad shoulders like a shroud. But Rhett decides there’s too much space between them, even though Link barely shifted. Rhett folds his long legs so he can drive his hips up to meet Link’s mouth. 

Link’s throat is punished with ruthless precision. In a different position, Rhett would be able to see the shape of his dick in Link’s throat, filling it up, making his goozle jump and twitch when Link tries to swallow around the intrusion. A wet, glottal noise is pushed out around every thrust, and Rhett feels like he’ll go crazy with it. 

He could come like this, but he’d rather come on Link’s cock, so he hauls Link in and buries himself in that tight heat one more time., holding Link against his pelvis long enough that Link’s vision starts to go grey around the edges. 

Rhett’s hands finally let up, and Link can pull off his cock for the first time in what feels like forever. He’s racked with a coughing fit, finally hawking up a puddle of thick saliva that Rhett’s dick coaxed out of the depths of his throat. 

“Babe,  _ fuck _ ,” Link growls, his gratitude obvious in the way his eyes are glassy, and his pupils have eaten up all but the smallest sliver of blue.

“Yeah. Fuck.  _ Now _ .” Rhett says impatiently. 

Rhett grabs the front of Link’s faded t-shirt and drags Link’s mouth to his crack, his over-eager hands tear the fragile shirt apart at the seams; a decades-old Merle Haggard concert tee that Link would no doubt miss once he wasn’t tongue deep in Rhett’s asshole. Rhett would buy him a thousand new shirts to replace it, as long as Link’s talented fucking tongue stayed right where it was.

Link pushes Rhett’s legs up to his chest. Folding Rhett in half gave him unimpeded access to Rhett's hole. His nose is pressing against Rhett’s taint, and his stubble is chafing red patches against Rhett’s skin.

Impatient to get more of his tongue into Rhett, Link fires a wad of spit at Rhett’s hole, and slides his thumbs through the wetness and past the tight ring of muscle. He pulls his thumbs apart, giving him extra space to wriggle his tongue past Rhett’s rim. 

Something thunks against his elbow, and he looks down to see a bottle of lube Rhett slid over to him. Rhett’s hair is a mess, sweat matted, and wild from Rhett running his fingers through it as he falls apart on Link’s tongue. 

He decides to show the guy some mercy, and slicks up his fingers. He slides three into Rhett, groaning at the tightness. Rhett’s back bows and he barks a curse. Link’s slick fingers immediately find the spot inside Rhett that coaxes a litany of expletives out of the big man, and Link kisses each one out of his mouth. He’s grinding against Rhett’s thigh, his cock still hanging out of the splayed open vee of his jeans. He’s been too preoccupied to remove them.

Rhett’s hands search for something to occupy them. One hand drags over Link’s nipple. Many years ago Link had a second barbell added to each of them, vertically, so now Link had 4 little stainless steel balls on each tit for Rhett to worry with his fingertips. He picks at the bars, twirling them between his thumb and index finger until both nipples are pebbled and hard, and Link’s body is quaking and covered in goosebumps. 

He helps Link out of his jeans, and is folded in half again by Link’s eager body. One hand braced against Rhett’s thigh keeps his ass tipped up, so Link can thumb the head of his cock past Rhett’s rim, following the hot, wet slide until his hips are pressed up against Rhett’s ass, and Rhett is gasping at the sudden fullness.

Link doesn’t wait for Rhett to adjust. He rolls his hips to draw out slowly, and drives back in hard. He pushes Rhett’s legs farther apart so he can as much of his dick inside Rhett as possible. The pinned man gasps praise with every breath Link’s cock pushes out of him. His hands cling to Link’s shoulders, palms covering the bold Blood Oath tattoos, his thumbs digging into the bars that spear the skin under the clavicles that bear those sacred words. 

Rhett babbles, “Fuck you feel so good.” And groans, “So fucking thick.” And begs, “Fuck me, baby. Harder. Yeah. ‘M not gonna break.”

Rhett’s dick smears precome over his stomach, slick trails left in the coarse hair when each raw thrust bounces his cock against his body with a wet smack. 

Link growls, “More.” He pulls out and flips Rhett over to his hands and knees in one fluid movement. Then he’s pushing right back inside of him without missing a beat. 

He leans back to watch his cock stretch and pull Rhett’s hole. He rubs the puffy skin with the pads of his thumbs. Rhett groans, and lets his head fall between his biceps. Link hums at the way Rhett’s muscles flutter around his cock. He pushes his thumbs past the quivering rim next to his dick. 

Rhett’s elbows buckle, and his front collapses, the added intrusion, and sudden stretch sends fire pouring down his spine, and his vision whites out when he comes with a curse. His cock jerks out streaks of come, splashing all over his chest, belly, and the floor. The carpet of the RV chafes his cheek, and he breathlessly chants  _ fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck _ .

The rhythmic clench around Link’s cock sends tingly heat cascading through him, and his orgasm rips through him with ferocious intensity. It’s pure muscle memory that keeps his hips moving until his come dribbles out around his thumbs where they’re still pushed into Rhett’s twitching hole. 

“Fuck, bo. Look at the mess you made,” he teases, dragging his thumbs through the dribbles of come leaking out of Rhett. He picks up the destroyed Merle shirt next to his knee and uses it to mop up the mess all over the two of them and the floor. He makes a tut tut noise, and pouts theatrically, “I’ve had this shirt since ‘95. I can’t believe you ripped it.”

“Yeah? Well I can’t believe you still have a shirt that you owned before you even had hair on your dick.” 

“You know damn well—” Link scowls at Rhett. He decides not to take the bait. Instead, he says softly, “Remember, we drove all the way to Illinois to see him?”

“Yeah I do. We camped in the back of the truck because we spent all our cash on gas, tickets, and those t-shirts.”

“Good times,” Link traces over a long, flowing tattoo that coils over Rhett’s neck and disappears down his shoulder. A graceful collection of musical notes that map out the first song they ever wrote together. They curl up on the floor of the RV, face-to-face. Rhett opens a cubby in the wall and pulls out two thin pillows, and a blanket that had seen better days, He stacks the pillows, and throws the blanket over them. The chill from outside is starting to creep indoors.

“I’ll buy you a new one.” Rhett sighs. They share the pillow, lying face-to-face. He taps at the steel balls that dot Link’s face. Piercings in his lips, nose, cheeks, and eyebrow. They shine in the dim light and Rhett bops a finger over each of them until Link smiles.

“It’s okay. ‘S just a shirt. I can just steal yours.” He grins at Rhett.’’

He nods and pulls Link to his chest and their limbs tangle together, winding among the other’s like they’ve done thousands of times before. Link’s head presses against Rhett’s chest so he can listen to his husband’s heartbeat. Rhett burrows his nose into Link’s candy floss hair. He smells shampoo, sweat, and a familiar musk that is just distinctly  _ Link _ .

Link sighs dreamily, “G’night.”

“Night’s not over yet,” Rhett grunts. A promise that Link’s  _ Lurv Handles _ would get some attention tonight after all. Link looks quite pleased at this, his sleepy eyes flying open and finding Rhett already looking back at him.

”So, I’ve been thinking a lot about it. I know what my next tattoo is gonna be.”

Rhett could read the mischief glittering in Link’s blue eyes all the way from outer space. “Don’t say it, Neal,” he warns.

“Cum dump.” Link announces proudly. 

Rhett buries his face in the pillow. “Jesus, man.”

“Yeah, and I think it’s gonna be a tramp stamp, right over my ass, so everyone can see it.”

“I hate you,” Rhett mutters into the pillow.

“You don’t”

“I do.”

“Nope.”

“Yep.”

“Nuh-uh. You luurrrvv meeeee,” he sing-songs.

Rhett thumps the pillow into Link’s head, “Yeah I do.” And he can’t help the smile that spreads across his face at Link’s amused chuckle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, folks. Let me know what you thought.   
> There will be more of this AU in the future.   
> Hopefully you're cool with that?  
> Thanks for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> No beta.   
> Updates Fridays.


End file.
